


i see the sunrise just like any other day

by marrieddorks



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Artist Jensen Ackles, Drawing, Fluff and Angst, Graduate School, Homophobia, M/M, Painting, Summer Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15592047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marrieddorks/pseuds/marrieddorks
Summary: If someone had told him a month ago he'd be falling in love on the Bridge of Sighs, he would have called them crazy from behind the stack of paperwork on his desk.Or --Jensen quits his job and runs off to Europe to "find himself" at the insistence of his friends and meddling little sister.





	i see the sunrise just like any other day

**Author's Note:**

> this is a story about my favorite place in the world, but it's more about finding yourself when you've gotten lost in life.

The familiar push and pull of graphite on canvas paper scratched at Jensen’s eardrums, but did nothing to distract his mind, nothing to soothe his soul like it used to. He’d been drawing for god-knows-how-many-hours now, and his hands were greasy from all the smeared pencil lines. Austin’s nightlife, which sounded no different than Dallas’ from up here in Jensen’s apartment, had faded away at some point, replaced with an almost calm silence in the midst of 900,000 people. Jensen was certain that if he pulled back the curtain he would see that first touch of sunrise filtering over the horizon, masking the city in a chest-aching golden glow, lighting up that bluebonnet Texan sky. But opening up the curtain meant shedding light on the dozens of drawings he’d created and destroyed, the ones scattered across his desk, flowing off of his bed, carpeting his floor, crumbled in his trashcan. Opening up the curtain meant reminding himself of what a failure he was. It meant being reminded that nothing had changed like he swore it would, nothing except his own sanity anyway. That fact was evident in the obsessive way his hands worked without his mind, carving out a smile when they were supposed to be thinking of the matadors in Spain; it was evident in the way the same pair of eyes always ended up staring right back at him instead of figures from the Parisian cafe he spent so much time at; it was evident in the way that any mention of Italy, of Venice, made him want the city to just sink into the ocean already, but not before taking him with it.

His hand was cramping, screaming at him to stop, and he wanted to, truly, he did, but at least the drawings were mindless. If he stopped, then he’d think and he’d dream and he’d dream of Venice. It was safer to keep drawing, even if each sketch made his chest hurt. It was safer to keep drawing, even if he never completed a single one because finishing the slope of that nose, the breadth of those shoulders, the fall of that hair, meant remembering just how badly he screwed up.

Mackenzie had bought him a picture frame set, had given it to him when she picked him up from the airport back in April. It hadn’t been wrapped, just decorated with a red ribbon, bow delicately tied. There were eight different frames, all the same size but alternating in orientation, and she had smiled at him, a smile so proud, when she handed it to him. Two months later, it sat half-stuffed behind Jensen’s dresser, every frame empty. She had wanted him to fill it with pictures from the trip, wanted him to fill it with the people he met, the places he saw, the food he ate. But Jensen had never been a big photographer and the few pictures he had taken held no inspiration. Hell, they hardly held any memory. He had let her down, too.

Eventually sleep claimed him, his face pressed down on the last drawing he’d worked on. He’d wake up deliriously in a few hours with gray all over his face, practically matching the dark circles that had been there for months, and the drawing, one of a smile he could never capture the right amount of warmth in, would be ruined. He’d dream of that same smile though, and he’d draw it again and again and again. Even though it always hurt him, he couldn’t risk forgetting.

_Five Months Ago_

Post-lunchtime at Carver & Company was always the busiest part of the day. It was as though every client Jensen was working for called in requesting something and, on this particular Wednesday afternoon, his computer happened to be frozen too. The first thirty minutes after eating a burger that had been too cold by the time it ended up in his hands had been spent answering four different phone calls and trying to print off fifty pages of histories and bank statements to have ready by nine tomorrow morning. His tie felt too tight around his throat and the sudden ringing of his cell phone was too shrill in his ears and too frustrating as he had just hung up with Mr. Wanek ten seconds ago.

“What?” he answered with a bit of bite that he couldn’t seem to hold back. His right hand kept alternating between tugging impatiently at the collar of his shirt and pinching at the bridge of his nose. He needed to call down to IT, needed to get his computer fixed or he’d have to work overtime tonight.

“Wow, rude much?” Mackenzie asked, a smile evident in her little-sister-tone, the one that grated on Jensen’s nerves.

“Mac, I don’t have time to talk right now. I’m swamped and exhausted and I have twelve hours of work to get done in four, so if you could hurry this up and not waste my time, that would be fantastic.” A pause. “Shit, Mac, I’m sorry, I just --” he started, an immediate need to try and sooth the sting of his words gripping him, but Mackenzie was faster and all he could hear was the repetitive, draining, tick of the turn signal underneath Mackenzie’s clipped reply of “Mom wants you to come over for dinner tonight,” a mantra she repeated every week, and the apology died as it went to escape his mouth, replaced with a groan in the back of his throat instead.

“You know I can’t, Mac,” Jensen sighed his own weekly mantra back to her.

“Well you can tell her then because I’m not going to deal with her blow up afterwards. I’m not covering for you again.”

“Mac, please,” Jensen begged. His finger was pressing incessantly with the cursor on anything and everything on the frozen computer screen, silently pleading for it to work. “You know I’ve been working overtime for the last month. I have to get these statements done. If I don’t, I’m going to be so far behind that my birthday is going to spent in this office.”

Mackenzie didn’t say anything right away, the silence back with a force, and all he could hear this time was the muffled vocals of The 1975. “Jensen, stop being their bitch,” she said suddenly with a determination that had Jensen drawing back in his office chair.

“Hey, watch you mouth!” he finally managed to sputter, sounding far too much like their mother for his own liking.

“I’m serious,” she started, and for a moment Jensen was fully reminded just how much she had grown up. “It’s been three years of this, Jensen. Three years of you basically hanging by a thread because they ask too much and give you nothing in return.” She got quiet again, only for a moment, and when she spoke her voice was softer. “And I don’t understand how the Jensen I remember from growing up.”

Jensen wanted to groan, wanted to tell her that there are some things that she’s just too young to remember, that there are some things that he’s never told her for a reason. Another part of him wanted to confess, wanted to tell her about family information that had been kept quiet from everyone, had only been bickered and argued over in hushed voices over telephones and passive remarks at tense dinner tables. But time was clearly of the essence because he heard Mackenzie sigh, a sigh all too much like his own. “I’m pulling in the driveway right now so I’m going to let you go. Want me to tell Mom you aren’t going to make it tonight?”

“I’ll tell her,” he said, slumping in his seat. “And I’ll make it up to her by coming by Friday.”

“You know if you give her the heads-up she’ll make sure Josh and Allison come by, too,” Mackenzie reminded him and Jensen was glad to hear the tiniest trace of a smile back in her voice.

“Yeah, I know. That should win me some points, right?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she huffed like it was an answer. “Okay, go back to crunching numbers and doing whatever else it is you awfully boring accountants do. I’ll see you Friday.”

“See you then, Macaroni.”

He hung up, gave himself a whole minute to slump in his chair before he picked up his office phone and dialed down to IT. “Hi, Frank. Yeah, it’s my computer again.” He’d call his mom once he could breathe.

///  
Friday was a full-fledged family event thanks to Jensen’s Wednesday night plea with his mother, and he was torn between being overwhelmed by all the people and being eternally grateful for the nostalgia of homemade food melting in his mouth. He was a decent chef on his own, but all his overtime limited any free moments for cooking and left time for four-minute Lean Cuisines and eighteen-minute frozen pizzas instead.

“Mom, that was amazing,” Jensen said, pushing his plate forward on the table, the table cloth underneath folding and wrinkling. Donna was already up and taking empty plates to the sink, placing leftovers on the counter, all so she could clear the table and sit the dessert down.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she smiled, and a hand closed around his shoulder for balance as she leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

“First homemade meal we’ve had in two months,” Josh commented, completely missing the dirty look Allison shot his way.

“Gee, sorry I’ve been a little busy,” she snapped. All three women threw each other knowing looks, ignoring Josh’s obliviousness as his arms dropped heavily to his sides, a mumbled “What did I say?” thrown from him in Jensen’s direction.

“Your wife had a baby,” Jensen explained whilst trying to hold back a chuckle. “It’s not a sin that she hasn’t cooked in a while.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“That’s what it sounded like,” Allison said, a decidedly vindictive tone to her words as she picked Levi up and cradled him close.

“You could man-up and cook dinner, y’know,” Jensen pointed out.

“It’s real funny, you telling me to man-up,” Josh grumbled. No one reacted to his statement, not even Jensen, not outright.

“I’ve been working overtime for the last month and a half. I don’t have time to cook, I barely have time to sleep. You’ve been out of work for how long now?” Jensen asked instead, his tone too cool, too betraying of the acid now churning in his stomach.

“Jensen, your brother has been dealing with a lot of changes in his life. Babies are gifts from above and I think Josh’s current hardships are a blessing in disguise. He gets to be home with his baby everyday. You can’t get those days back,” Donna chided at him.

“How is work?” Alan asked, speaking for the first time since he sat down in his recliner. He didn’t look up from his tablet, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and Jensen knew that even if he was looking he wouldn’t notice the shift in Jensen’s demeanor.

“Good.”

The tension in his shoulders was at all new levels, making him feel a need to try and crawl out of his skin, making him want to go away, away into his head and away somewhere else entirely. He could feel Mackenzie’s eyes on him.

“Just good?” his mom asked, utterly unaware.

“It’s work,” he said, said like it should answer everything, and he stood, needing to move, and walked over to the cabinet the plates were in.

“He’s miserable,” Mackenzie jumped in suddenly, her voice too loud from her spot at the breakfast bar, and Jensen felt that acidity turn into something else, something more, as he shot her a glare, hands stilled where his fingertips were brushing against the smooth edges of the small dessert plates. “He hasn’t been around because they’re trying to work him to death.”

“That’s how work is supposed to be,” Alan called over his shoulder, his voice utterly parental like it always was with Mackenzie. “Jensen’s nothing but a boy there. He needs to work hard and earn his respect.”

“Are they really working you too hard, honey?” Donna asked, her voice parental in a different way, soft and motherly. Jensen had heard that same tone always. Donna was nothing if not a picture-perfect mother.

“No, Mom, I’m fine,” Jensen smiled, the picture-perfect son. Mackenzie made an undignified groan, eyes rolling. “Things are always crazy around this time. It is tax season after all. But, like Dad said, it’s work and it’s not supposed to be easy.”

“That’s right,” Alan agreed firmly.

They all ate dessert in silence. The lemon cake was light and sweet with just the right amount of tartness to it, and it melted like candy floss on their tongues. Donna hardly ate any, too busy with Levi who she had stolen from Allison as soon as the cake was served, and spent cake-eating time ignoring her own slice in favor of cooing over the baby.

“We need to get going soon so we can get Levi to bed,” Josh said not long after he’d finished his piece of cake, arm slung casually around the chair Allison was in.

“So soon?” Donna pouted, pulling Levi a little closer.

“Mom, we’re over all the time. You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I know, it’s just,” she started with a sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She was blonde so it was harder to see, but the gray was there. She’d throw a fit if she realized it though. “Jensen’s here and it’s been such a good night. I hate to see it end.”

“Well, little brother needs to work out time in his busy schedule for his family,” Josh said, pointedly staring at Jensen.

“I can’t make any promises,” Jensen said, his dessert plate clinking against the others in the sink. “I told you, and I’ve told you for four years: I’m busy.”

“It’s not like you live an hour away. You live in town. You’re making it way too big of a deal.” There was a grin on Josh’s face, but the smile didn’t take away from the words and everything behind them.

It had been easy an hour ago, when Jensen was warm and food-content in a way he hadn’t been in weeks, to ignore the comments he was all too familiar with, but with the moon rising higher in the sky each passing second, the exhaustion from another entire week of overtime was wearing on him and he knew that the tick in his jaw was blatant as he held his tongue.

“I’m going to have to head out soon, too,” he opted to say instead, pushing back what was racing through his mind.

“Oh, fine,” Donna huffed in a way that had Jensen preparing for the guilt-trip he could feel following and, for a moment, he caught himself wondering just how a night could go downhill in the blink of an eye. “You’re hardly here, and when you are you just can’t wait to leave.”

“I have plans tomorrow, Mom,” Jensen tried to placate. “Chris is going to stop by early and we’re going to breakfast. But I can bring him over to say hi if you’d like. He hasn’t seen you guys for a while.”

“You still talk to that boy?” Alan asked, disapproval evident in the sharp arch of his eyebrow. With every word Jensen said, things were picking up speed.

“Or I won’t bring him by,” Jensen gruffed out, his chair scraping angrily at the floor. “Either way, I have to get going.”

Goodbyes were tense. Alan made another comment about Chris, one just like the ones he made fifteen years ago when Jensen and Chris first met, and Donna looked disappointed and sad as all of her children scurried out of the house.

Jensen plucked Levi out of Allison’s hands, offering to put him in his carseat so Jensen could smother that smiling baby face in kisses while he gave out all sorts of uncle-like advice as though Levi understood a single word.

“So….” Mackenzie trailed, arms crossed over her chest as Josh and Allison drove away. “Dinner.”

“Save it, Mac,” Jensen said tiredly.

“I didn’t say anything. I don’t have to say anything.”

“You clearly have a whole lot to say about something you don’t understand. How about you just let it go?” Jensen asked like it was a peace offering. The air was chilly, the late winter breeze rustling the newly growing leaves on the trees in their parents’ front yard, and Jensen’s car door handle was cold to the touch.

“What do you mean I don’t understand?”

“Mackenzie….” It was Jensen’s turn to trail off, his heart picking up speed.

“No, tell me. What don’t I understand?” She was getting angry. Jensen could see that Ackles’ jaw set, could see the confusion in her eyes. But then she took a breath and it was gone.

“Do you know why I was the one that called you Wednesday?”

“I hadn’t really thought much of it,” Jensen told her, hand still on the car door handle.

“I was helping Mom scour the attic for baby clothes. You know her, she’s a secret hoarder. She was pretty sure that some of your’s and Josh’s old stuff was somewhere up there, stuffed away in some box. We were looking through everything, finding things like Josh’s old cassettes and a box full of some of your Lacrosse trophies. We even found some of my old dress-up clothes. Remember those god-awful sequined dresses I used to wear and try to force you and Josh into?”

“I remember,” Jensen mumbled, memories of swatting away cheap pink dresses and tossing plastic and gel high-heeled shoes away from himself.

“We found two boxes of old baby clothes. And Mom did that thing where she starts telling stories from her too-good memory. She cried after a while, telling stories of what Josh was doing when he wore this or that shirt one time, what you did when you were wearing those little blue shoes. And then she pulled out one outfit and zoned for a second. I asked her if she was okay and she started telling me a story. You were only a few months old. You weren’t crawling yet, but you had started to roll over on your own. She had wanted some good pictures of you to frame and put up, wanted one for her clutch to show all the ladies at church. She had dressed you up all nice in a brand new outfit. It was a tiny little button-up that she tucked into some navy blue pants. There was even a little baby bowtie.”

“Mom did always look at us as little dolls to dress up. She made us sound like that family in that Flowers in the Attic book.”

“She was carrying you into the place to get your pictures, balancing you and the diaper bag and a drink when a car horn went off in the same parking lot, scaring her and making her jump. Her drink spilled all over you, staining your brand new white shirt, and you were crying and suddenly the entire day went to hell. She rushed you back to the car, trying to get you to stop crying, and she opened the trunk to lie you flat on it like a changing table. She said she was pulling you out of all your stained clothes and she was trying not to cry too. Part of her wanted to leave, to reschedule, but she had set this day aside for this. The only other outfit she had in the diaper bag though was a plain white t-shirt and overalls. When she finally got you to stop crying, she put you in the clean clothes and decided to hell with it, and brought you in for your pictures anyway.”

“Mom definitely didn’t decide ‘to hell with it.’”

“She said that those baby pictures were her most favorite baby pictures ever. She said that even though you were dressed in the cheapest outfit she had for you, those pictures turned out to be her favorite ones.”

“You deal with a lot of shit when you’re alone with Mom, huh?”

“That’s not what the point of this story is, Jensen!”

“Then what is the point? Because besides me being a ridiculously adorable baby, I’m not seeing the big picture.”

“The point is that she started talking about you. After she told me that, she told me how much she misses you and how worried she is about you. That’s why I called.”

“Mac,” Jensen started with an incredulous laugh.

“No, Jensen, don’t tell me you’re fine. I mean, I’ve seen you stressed out before. When you were in tenth grade and your lacrosse team went to state, you --”

“I almost missed the bus because I didn’t sleep, I remember.”

“And in twelfth grade you got the lead in the musical and --”

“And I almost hyperventilated on opening night, I remember.”

“But this is something totally different. Because back then, when all of that was going on, you would still find a way to drag yourself over to your desk, sharpen a pencil, and start drawing. When’s the last time you actually sat down and drew anything?”

“I’m not a starving artist, Mac. I have a job.”

“And that’s the problem.”

“Look, can we save the life intervention for another day? I wasn’t kidding when I said I have plans tomorrow. And you know Chris. He’ll probably end up at my house around six, probably won’t have even slept,” Jensen said, opening his door and half-slipping inside.

“You know I’m just looking out for you, Jensen. If you just talked to --”

“I know you are, Mac. But things aren’t as simple as you think they are. They aren’t.”

“Or are things not as complicated as you think they are? Life doesn’t have to be difficult, and you don’t have to be miserable.” Her hand was on top of the door, stopping him from closing it.

“Yeah, well, maybe one day I’ll tell you why you’re wrong. But you’re young and I don’t really want to take away what hope you’ve managed to cling onto in life. Mine left a long long time ago.”

Mackenzie only looked at him, that same angry confusion back in her eyes, and Jensen sighed and put on his best smile like he did for their parents. “One day, okay?”

“Fine,” she muttered. With that look still on her face she stepped back from the door and let it close with a bang. As Jensen drove away, he watched her get smaller in his rearview window before turning the corner. He passed out in his bed the moment his head hit the pillow a good twenty-minute-drive later. There hadn’t been time to think about what Mackenzie was saying, especially when the morning came too quickly and it was accompanied by fists pounding on his front door.


End file.
